


Maybe We're Not Alone

by zoombles



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Alternate Universe - Connor Murphy Lives (Dear Evan Hansen), Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Bisexual Connor Murphy (Dear Evan Hansen), F/F, M/M, Slow Burn, Trans Connor Murphy (Dear Evan Hansen), also larrys a shithead in this fic so no good larry rep here, but school does exist so, cynthia and heidi are trying though. still not the best, hopefully consistent update schedule, oh yeah back to the larry thing tw for him being mentally/emotionally abusive towards connor, overall tw for suicidal thoughts self harm and a few panic attacks, probably
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-03
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2019-07-06 14:06:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15887559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zoombles/pseuds/zoombles
Summary: "Dear Connor Murphy, today is going to be an amazing day and here's why."---Out of all the possible things to happen the night Connor was supposed to die, being stopped by Evan Hansen, established as an asshole who wrote a creepy letter about his sister to get Connor to freak out, was not expected in the slightest. And neither was the same asshole starting to write him letters about how somehow, his life was going to be okay, or that day was going to be amazing, or whatever bullshit Evan decided to write.But, apparently, that's what was going to happen. And Connor had to try to recover again. And maybe he could make a friend or two along the way.Maybe, just maybe, he's not alone.





	1. i / survive

**Author's Note:**

> sup yall im connor and im back at it with more deh.  
> TW: connor comes close to attempting suicide in this chapter, there's an excerpt from his letter, larry's emotionally/mentally abusive (he's not featured Yet but connor talks abt some shit), if anyone wants to be like "hey u missed x thing that's a trigger" since i mightve missed something please do  
> (this chapter in total is 7 pages / 2372 words. the longest out of the three chapters ive got done)

The day that Connor Murphy planned to kill himself, he painted his nails bright purple.

 

His black nail polish was old, chipped, and  _ not _ what he wanted his nails to look like when he was dead. He didn’t know if he believed in an afterlife, but if he was going to look like this forever, he wanted to look decent.

 

He had on a grey denim jacket with the sleeves ripped off, and a black button-up t-shirt on underneath. His ripped jeans were tucked into the hiking boots he wore. He had his hair pulled into a bun. And he climbed a tree. 

 

He hadn’t wanted any of the last people in the park to notice him while he tried to write his note. The color of the pencil and the notebook both matched his nails. The page had more words scribbled out than words that had been accepted into the final draft. Of course, he’d have to rewrite it so it didn’t look like his final words were written in some unbreakable code, since his vision was blurred by tears and his handwriting was undoubtedly messy. Not to mention the fact that his hands were shaking.  

 

It was cliché. He wasn’t sure how else to write it. He didn’t apologize to Larry, since he had absolutely no reason to. He apologized to Mom and Zoe. Not for what he was planning to do.

 

_ I’m sorry for being such a fucking asshole. I’m sorry that I was a fucking monster to you. I don’t have a fucking excuse, I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve it. You never deserved it.  _

 

A snap came from a bit farther down the path. Connor wasn’t startled easily, but that sudden change from nothing but the sound of the animals in the woods and the occasional breeze was enough to nearly send him falling to the ground from his perch about ten feet off the ground. A curse slipped through his lips as he just barely caught himself, his pencil and open notebook falling to the ground.

 

He pulled himself back up onto the branch, waiting for the footsteps to keep moving past him before he retrieved his fallen items. It took a few seconds of silence for Connor to realize whoever it was had stopped, and then they resumed. Connor quietly sighed in relief, assuming they’d think the fallen objects were some animal and leave. 

 

It wasn’t until he saw them underneath his perch in the tree that he realized that was not the case. A familiar white cast reached out for the notebook on the ground, and it took a moment for Connor to recognize his name scrawled in black Sharpie on the cast. 

 

What the hell was Evan Hansen doing here?

 

Connor was barely breathing, out of fear that Evan would hear him. He pulled his legs to his chest and pulled his arms in as tight as he could, trying to make sure that he wouldn’t be seen from below.

 

He watched as Evan looked over the blank page that was upright when the notebook had landed, before flipping it over to see the note. It was almost done, Connor had almost finished it. Two sentences to go, and a signoff. Then he just had to rewrite it so it was legible. So fucking close.

 

Turns out that it was legible enough for Evan. His shoulders tensed up as time passed, and after about ten seconds, he called out.

 

“Hello?” His voice was frantic. “Uh, is someone, uh, where are you? Please come out. Please don’t, don’t do what you’re planning on doing, please.”

 

Connor knew Evan would deduce from the times Connor used Zoe’s name in the letter that it couldn’t have been anyone but Connor. Yet, he was kind of glad he wasn’t calling out Connor’s name. That would’ve felt weird. It would’ve made this all feel real.

 

“Please- please don’t hurt yourself. Please come out. Please come out.”

 

Connor feels a sob building in his throat. He forced it down, refusing to make any sound that would tell Evan where he was.

 

“Connor. Please come out. I, I know you’re the one here. Please don’t hurt yourself.”

 

Tears were welling up in his eyes again, his nails digging into the tree branch. No. No.

 

“Please come out, Connor. Please. You matter. You matter.”

 

_ He’s lying. He’s lying. He doesn’t even  _ know _ you. You have never done anything to matter. _

 

The tears were falling now. He wanted to scream. He wanted to scream and punch something and bleed. 

 

So he does. He shouts, and he twists his torso to punch the tree. 

 

Evan looks up at the shout, and the sound of Connor's fist meeting the tree. 

 

"Connor-"

 

"Fuck off, Hansen." He didn't look down at him.

 

"C-Connor, please just-"

 

"Don't give me a bullshit speech about how it'll get better, asshole. It hasn't in the past fucking... ten years, it's not gonna magically start getting better now just because you fucking found me about to off myself."

 

"I, no, I wasn't, I wasn't going to give a speech or, anything like that, just. Please don't do it tonight? Life is, uh, life's shit." Connor looks down at that. Evan's hand is rubbing his cast, his head is turned downward. "But, please don't. Please don't, kill yourself, Connor. Not tonight, at least, uh. Can you, do you have a therapist?"

 

Connor scoffed. "I had one for a goddamn month in like, eighth grade and my fucking... Larry decided it wasn't going to work and pulled me out of it. They've tried sending me to rehabs, summer retreats, all that fucking bullshit. It doesn't work."

 

"Can you, do you think you could convince your parents to get you a new therapist? Please? It's, I'm not going to say it gets better immediately or, anything, but, therapy helps. If you, uh, if you're there long enough. And if you talk to them."

 

"Yeah, no fucking shit, Hansen. He pulled me out of therapy because I fucking threatened to kill myself. And to Larry that means I just want fucking attention. He fucking hates that I'm fucking, that I'm mentally ill and shit. I'd fucking love to convince him to get me another therapist but he won't fucking listen. He never has."

 

It was silent for a few seconds.

 

"Give me my notebook and my pencil back, Hansen."

 

"Can you- I'll give it back if you uh, if you come down and promise, to survive tonight. And to go home. And talk to your parents. Please?"

 

Connor laughed. "Why the fuck do you care so much?"

 

Evan froze. "B-because- I uh, I just don't, I don't think it's the only solution. I don't... I don't know. It's not like, I don't think you're selfish or anything, for being tired? Of life? Or whatever brought you to this?"

 

"The fact that I don't matter?"

 

"But- Connor, you do."

 

"Bullshit. But fucking... whatever. I'll come down and go home if you fucking, give me my goddamn notebook and pencil back and don't fucking tell anyone about this shit."

 

"Okay. Alright. Deal. Just, stay safe. Please."

 

Connor was barely careful while he swung down. He held onto the branch by locking his elbows over it first, then moved down to his hands, and then dropped to the ground. He turned to Evan, who held out his notebook and pencil. Connor pulled them from his hands, turning down the path towards the parking lot.

 

"Wait- Connor!"

 

He stopped and turned. 

 

"Can I, uh. Maybe we could, trade phone numbers so, uh, if you, need to talk or, anything you can message me? Or we could just, not have to pretend to have friends?"

 

He was silent for a few seconds.

 

"Yeah, no, I'm good. See you later, Hansen."

 

He didn't wait for Evan to argue. He just turned back down the path and headed to his car, hopping in and pulling his keys from his pocket. He shoved them in the ignition and started his car, leaning back against his seat and just sitting there for a few minutes.

 

He'd just run into the asshole that wrote a creepy letter about his sister to make Connor freak out, probably. And said asshole had just talked him out of suicide for the night. And now he was about to go home to his asshole family and probably snap at his sister and make Larry snap at him and make Mom sad and. Yeah, alright, sure, that was  _ definitely  _ worth living for. What the fuck was he doing.

 

He didn't let himself think on it any more. He pulled out of the parking lot, driving home by muscle memory while his mind wandered a bit. Thinking about anything but what had just happened. Maybe he could self harm or get high once he got home. That'd help. At least for a bit. 

 

The drive was short, and he was home in about five minutes. He grabbed his notebook and pencil from where he had tossed them on the passenger seat, opening the car door and heading inside.

 

He was greeted by Zoe watching TV in the living room. Or, more texting someone on her phone than watching it.

 

"Where the fuck have you been?" she asked, no concern in her voice. It was more that numb,  _ Mom was ready to call the fucking police again, Connor, can't you do one thing right and not scare her like that? _ voice. 

 

"Out. Why are you acting like you give a fuck?"

 

"Because you don't normally disappear this late at night for that long?"

 

"How do you know how long I disappear for when? You never fucking pay attention, Zoe."

 

"Actually, it's pretty fucking hard to not pay attention when Mom freaks out whenever you're gone for more than like, an hour in a half or something--"

 

"Connor!"

 

He looks up to see his mother coming down the stairs, relieved tears in her eyes. Goddamnit. Not again.

 

She rushed over to him, reaching up to cup his face in her hands.

 

"Where were you! You know you're not supposed to go out this late, sweetie, are you okay?"

 

"I'm-- Mom, I'm fine. Calm down. It's not like I don't do this every other day."

 

"I'd be more okay with it if I wasn't worried you were out, doing drugs or something. Where were you? Why didn't you respond to my texts? Why was your phone off?"

 

Because his phone was turned off before he even reached the park so that no one could call him and interrupt his plan to be dead by the time the sun rose? Which didn't even work because some asshole found him and read his note and made him go home?

 

"I was at the park, Mom. My phone died. I'm fine. Can I go, please? I'm tired."

 

Cynthia frowned, letting her hands fall from Connor's cheeks.

 

"Alright. Are you sure you're okay? Do you need anything before bed?"

 

"I'm gonna take a shower. Is that alright?"

 

"That's perfectly alright, honey."

 

Connor moves past her, walking around her instead of pushing her aside like he usually does. He planned to die today. He doesn't have the energy to be an asshole to his own mother.

 

He was halfway up the stairs when Cynthia grabbed his attention again.

 

"Connor?"

 

He turned his head. "What?"

 

"I love you, sweetie."

 

He was silent for a few seconds. "I love you too."

 

He noticed something was off before he was even fully up the stairs.

 

He headed towards his room to grab pajamas before he showered. He hated going to get them with nothing but a towel. It meant his scars and cuts were out in the open for anyone to see. And he didn't want his mom to see that. 

 

He had already half-stepped through his doorway when he noticed what was off.

 

His door was gone.

 

His fucking door was gone.

 

What the hell?

 

In the moment, he forgot all about taking a shower and just going to sleep so he could wake up tomorrow and probably skip school. He rushed back downstairs, nearly falling down them, and planted his feet at the bottom.

 

He didn't even look up to make sure someone was there that he was talking to.

 

"Where the  _ fuck  _ did my door go?"

 

Cynthia's voice was the one to respond. 

 

"Oh, Connor, I should've warned you, your father thought that it would be good to keep you from sneaking out. I'm sorry, honey."

 

"What the fuck! 'I'm sorry' doesn't fucking... Give me my fucking door back!"

 

Cynthia was silent for a few seconds. "I can talk to Dad in the morning, honey. For now just... shower and get ready for bed, alright? I'm sorry."

 

Connor scoffed, but he knew he wasn't going to get any further with that conversation so. He turned and headed upstairs, to his doorless room, grabbing clothes and heading to the bathroom to take a shower.

 

He ended up having a nice, normal, shower breakdown. Which was fun. But at least he didn't have the motivation to self harm or anything beyond scratching at his arms. That was fine, at least it didn't mean any more scars.

 

He collapsed onto his bed as soon as he was back in his room and his phone was plugged in on his nightstand. He was drained. Today had been a really long rollercoaster and Connor was ready for it to be over. 

 

He knew he wouldn't be asleep for another few hours, probably. But being in bed meant the day couldn't get any worse. 

 

So, he shuffled under the covers and just. Laid there.

 

He realized after about a half-hour that music would probably help. Then remembered that his door was gone and that he'd probably annoy everyone else. So he let himself sit there in silence while he tried to slip into unconsciousness.

 

When he finally managed to sleep, he accepted that with open arms. 

 

Tomorrow was probably not going to be better. But whatever. He'd survived seventeen years so, fuck. Apparently, now he had to survive at least a few more days.


	2. ii / letters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor gets a note.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeet yall probably know whats happening  
> TW: larrys in this chapter so yall know what that means. thoughts about self harm. connor refers to himself/imagines others (including family members) referring to him as ps*cho/a freak. the letter mentions suicide and self harm. jared makes suicide jokes. connor thinks he might have a panic attack (doesnt have one). he physically attacks jared (its not AWFUL but its there).

"Hey, asshole, get up. I'm not gonna wait for you."

 

Connor's eyes opened to his sister flicking his light on and off, standing in his doorway.

 

Right. His door was gone. Larry sucked. Life sucked. And he was supposed to die last night. 

 

He sat up, looking over at Zoe. "Fuck you."

 

"Fuck you. Hurry up or I'm leaving you at home."

 

He was ready to say that he didn't care, or that he'd rather stay at home. But he decided that school was something to do other than just, wallow in how much life sucked. And Zoe had already left, anyways.

 

He wasn't fully aware of what he was doing as he got his clothes and moved to the bathroom to get changed. Another shitty part of having no door: he couldn't get changed in his own room. 

 

He pulled his jacket on as he stepped out of the bathroom, walking downstairs. Larry was reading emails on his phone at the table, Cynthia was finishing cleaning up from cooking breakfast, and Zoe was eating at the other end of the table. 

 

Cynthia looked up as Connor entered the room, giving him a small smile. 

 

"Good morning, sweetie-- are you hungry? I made you banana pancakes."

 

Connor knew she meant well. He knew she probably hadn't been able to convince Larry to give Connor his door back, so she was trying to make it up to him by making what had been his favorite breakfast for years. So he took one off his plate, not bothering to cut it up, and took a bite out of it as he sat down.

 

Larry didn't even look up to scold him for that. "Pancakes aren't a finger food, Connor. You're a young man, not a child. Act like one."

 

"Fuck you,  _ Dad _ ."

 

The "dad" title was reserved only for when his mom was around. Connor would much rather just call Larry by his name, or a passive-aggressive "father" title. But his mom hated when he did that, so right now, "dad" it was.

 

"Language."

 

"Is that the only thing you give a shit about? The fact that I swear? Fuck you."

 

"You're high, aren't you?"

 

Connor hated that he assumed that just because he was lashing out meant he was high. He'd been yelled at for that yesterday, but yesterday he was forced to go to school when he just wanted to stay home and make sure he'd be successful that night, so he got high to deal with part of the school day. 

 

"He's high."

 

Zoe didn't look up from her plate as she said it. She just kept poking at her food while she once again accused Connor of being high before school. 

 

"Connor, I reminded you yesterday that I didn't want you going to school high," Cynthia said, in the  _ I'm disappointed but not surprised _ voice she used.

 

"I'm not fucking high! For once, you guys are fucking accusing me of being high when I'm not! Fuck you! Fuck this!"

 

He tossed his pancake back onto his plate, only a single bite taken out of it, going back upstairs to grab his bag. Maybe he could use that broken pencil sharpener to cut real quick. But then again, he probably wouldn't have time to get it to stop bleeding so he'd have to pull his sleeves back down while it was still bleeding and that'd leave stains on his shirt and his mom would question him again so. Yeah, no. He wasn't doing that. Maybe after school. But not right now.

 

He fell backwards onto his bed, staring at his ceiling. If Evan hadn't been going for a walk last night in the park, what would've happened? He'd be dead right now, definitely. Larry and Zoe wouldn't have accused him of being high. Cynthia wouldn't have been disappointed in him for something he hadn't even done today. They'd be continuing life as normal, just a bit happier since they didn't have to deal with their psycho family member. 

 

Fuck this. Maybe he should get high. But he didn't have time to and Cynthia would just be more disappointed in him and Zoe would leave for school without him and he'd have to stay at home all day and wallow and it would suck. 

 

"Connor, I'm leaving," Zoe called from the bottom of the stairs. "Hurry up or I'm leaving you here."

 

He didn't respond. He grabbed his phone and headphones from his desk and his bag from his chair, and just walked out the door, tossing himself in the passenger seat without arguing. He pushed the seat back so he could have leg room, tossing his bag on the floor and leaning back. He was probably going to skip a few of his classes, either in the hallways or the library or the bathroom if he had to. He did not have the energy to deal with the kids in his classes today. 

 

If he stayed in the back of the library no one would bother him. 

 

If he found some shitty book to read no one would question why he was there. 

 

If he left for a few minutes at the end of each period no one would wonder why he was there for so long other than the librarians, and they didn't really give a shit anyways. 

 

He just needed to act like he had something to do and that he was doing it. He could pretend it was a book report or something and that he was finishing it last minute after finishing things in his other classes. Something like that.

 

Zoe didn't make any attempt at conversation. She plugged her phone into the aux, putting on the pop music she liked before pulling out of the driveway and driving to school with the music as the only noise other than the car.

 

Connor was glad he'd brought his headphones, plugging them into his phone and putting on a Green Day album. He turned it up loud enough that he couldn't hear his sister's music, which definitely wasn't good for his hearing, but he couldn't stand the upbeat music Zoe had gotten into after passing through her own emo phase. He preferred the Zoe that listened to nothing but twenty one pilots and My Chemical Romance. At least they had some kind of connection thanks to their music during that period. 

 

But he couldn't control the music Zoe listened to, so. This was what he had to do to deal with it. Ruin his eardrums to block out the shitty "it gets better UwU" and "life is great!!!" messages Zoe's music sent him. He was pretty sure he'd given up on that idea when Larry pulled him out of therapy and put him off his meds. 

 

He didn't move for a few minutes after they got to school. Zoe was waiting for her song to finish, anyways. She didn't have headphones to listen through since she actually had friends to talk to at school. She was pretty open about her hatred of Connor, so no one saw her as just "the freak's younger sister." She actually had a good circle of friends, and she was liked, because she wasn't mentally ill. She didn't start lashing out because her brain was shit at the ripe old age of seven. She wasn't known as "the stoner kid who threw a printer at a teacher in second grade." 

 

Connor hated that he was known as that because, mainly, he hadn't even really thrown the printer. He'd pushed it off the table. And it wasn't because he wasn't chosen as line leader, really. He had felt bad all day, as he later described to the principal.

 

_ "My head's being bad. It's thinking bad things and it's making me do bad things. I don't want to think bad things. I don't want to do bad things. Something's wrong with me." _

 

The principal had reported that to his parents. Larry had just written it off as an excuse for a temper tantrum.  _ "You're too old for temper tantrums. You have to start growing up." _

 

Connor had cried that night. He'd held his pillow, since Larry had taken his stuffed animals as soon as he turned seven, and cried into it. 

 

He pinpoints that as when he started blocking everyone off. 

 

"Get out of my car."

 

Zoe's voice snaps him back to the present. He opens the door and grabs his bag, slamming the door behind him.

 

He could leave right now, if he wanted. There was a little park down the street, with a playground and shit. He could go there until the end of the day. It's not like anyone would care. He skipped a lot.

 

He wasn't sure why, but he ended up heading into the school, going by his locker. He opened his bag to grab the math book he'd brought home, noticing his notebook. Right. He'd thrown that in there yesterday. 

 

He ignored it, setting his math book on the ground as he opened his locker. A folded-up paper fell out as soon as he did.

 

He looked at it, trying to decide if he was going to open it or not. It was probably some joke from some asshole-- Kleinman, maybe. He'd made that shitty joke yesterday. (A school shooter joke? Seriously? What the fuck.) Then he noticed his name written in shaky cursive on it. Yeah, no assholes he knew of would write in shaky cursive on a paper with a cruel joke hidden inside. 

 

He crouched down, grabbing his math book and putting it away and grabbing the note. He closed his locker as he stood up, unfolding the paper.

 

He had a good guess on who wrote it as soon as he read the first three words, typed instead of written in the shaky cursive his name was written in on the other side.

 

**Dear Connor Murphy.**

 

Why did Hansen write him a note? What was this, a shitty teenage romcom?

 

**Today is going to be an amazing day, and here's why.**

 

Didn't he tell him not to give him a shitty "it gets better" talk? Why was this any different?

 

**Because today, at least you're you. And that's enough.**

 

**Even if it feels like the whole world is against you. Even if it feels like you're against you. Today at least you're you.**

 

**Maybe some day you're going to be able to look at a bottle of pills without having suicidal thoughts. Maybe some day you're going to be able to look at a blade without wanting to self harm. Maybe I'm wrong and you don't feel either of those things and I hope I'm not offending you by assuming this but. You're not alone. You are never alone. Even if it feels like you're the only person who's experienced this, that there's no one to understand how you feel, you are not alone. Even if you feel lost, you will be found.**

 

**I promise you it's not all dark. Even if I haven't seen much light, I promise you it's there somewhere. I promise you you can find it. I promise you you'll be okay.**

 

**Sincerely, Me.**

 

What the fuck.

 

What. The. Fuck.

 

Did it have a nice message? Yeah, sure. It had a nice message. But it was kind of wasted on the kid that had just almost attempted suicide the night before.

 

"Hey, Connor! What's the note?" 

 

Jared's voice rang clear through the empty hallway. Connor looked up to see Evan standing behind him.

 

"Oh, shit, are you planning to off yourself? I mean, took you long enough, Con, but I might have to talk you out of that shit! Can't have a dead kid on my hands, dude!"

 

His heartbeat was rising. He was going to lash out and then have a panic attack as soon as he was away from anyone. Which meant he'd have to lock himself in the one universal bathroom the school had so he could take his binder off until he could calm down. Jared needed to shut up. Now.

 

"Seriously, though, you're gonna have to chill."

 

Connor took a deep breath, folding the note and putting it in his bag. 

 

"Fuck off, Kleinman."

 

"At least give an answer! Do I need to give you some shitty pep talk?"

 

"Fuck. Off."

 

"Do I need to give you a pep talk or no?"

 

"Jared please leave him alone," Evan cut in. 

 

"C'mon, Ev. I'm just trying to help. Shit, are you in on this too? I swear, if you guys have some fucking suicide pact and Evan ends up dead my mom's gonna stop paying my car insurance, so you two better cut the shit."

 

Blood was roaring in Connor's ears. Who the fuck did Kleinman think he was?

 

"Fuck  _ off _ !" Connor wasn't able to register what was happening until Jared was on the ground, Connor's boot pressing down on his chest. 

 

"You fucking asshole. I have no fucking clue what you're talking about with your goddamn car insurance, but you better shut the fuck up and leave me alone. Fuck."

 

He stepped off of Jared's chest, walking away, to his homeroom. The anticipation of a panic attack had passed over, and he was fairly certain he would just go numb in fifteen minutes or so and he'd be fine for the rest of the day.

 

Jared Kleinman was an asshole, and Evan Hansen was... something. 

 

That letter in his bag made Evan Hansen something. And it also meant that he had to make it an amazing day, so. That was a project now. 

 

Great. Thanks, Evan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also this was 7 pages long and 2272 words.  
> kudos and comment bc its a good way to show the author (thats me. hi) that u like their work (and i require constant approval)


	3. iii / warrior

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The school day isn't awful, and Connor gets to visit A La Mode.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 5 pages, 1696 words!!   
> tw for: connor imagines zoe referring to him as "ps*cho" again, suicide mention, connor feels shitty once more

Make it through the school day. That was the first order of business.

 

He could do that. He'd made it through years of school before. Make it through one day. Hopefully it would be easy.

 

He could skip his hardest classes. His math class. His civics class. He could spend those two in the library.

 

He could try his best in all his others and try to pass senior year so maybe he could graduate. That would be a goal to work for. Maybe one to stay alive for.

 

The letter had told him something he knew wasn't going to automatically be true. "Today is going to be an amazing day... because you're you." That was total bullshit. Being Connor Murphy was not amazing-day worthy. Skipping his shitty classes and probably rereading Simon Vs. The Homo Sapien's Agenda might help make it an amazing day. 

 

And that was just the school day. After school, after his mom forced him to do his homework, he could go to that ice cream place near the old orchard. 

 

Autumn Smile Apple Orchard had closed down years ago. Connor was twelve. So they'd stopped going to A La Mode, since it was an almost long drive and there was nothing else to do around there. 

 

As soon as Connor got his driver's license and his dad's old car, he was able to go basically wherever he wanted, whenever he wanted. So on a particularly awful day, he drove the forty minutes to A La Mode after dropping Zoe off at home and got chocolate ice cream with caramel and rainbow sprinkles. He sat at one of the outdoor picnic tables and read a book on the app he had on his phone while he ate his ice cream. That was a good day. That turned a bad day into a good one. So he'd gotten used to going there on bad days. 

 

He just had to make it through the school day first. Then he could go. 

 

His first class was his math class, which meant he was headed straight for the library. He could check out Simon Vs., and then he could go to the back of the library and read it until the bell rang, then he had art, which he could manage, since his art teacher actually liked him and liked his art and all of that. Even the edgy shit he drew on really bad days. Which had been nearly every day for years, but that was a different story. Mr. Hudson was a nice teacher, and Connor liked his class. That was that. He was going to art class.

 

He followed a similar plan throughout the day, spending two periods in the library, both before lunch-- he skipped math first period, art second period, and civics third. Then he had lunch, which. He usually spent that alone. He sat outside, whether it was 100 degrees out or 0, and had whatever lunch Cynthia had packed for him. But when he was heading out, he noticed Evan sitting alone at his locker, which just looked sad, even though half the time he was normally sitting alone there. He looked sad. So Connor resigned to sit next to him, pulling a brown paper bag out of his bag and pretending to not notice Evan looking at him, probably wondering why he was suddenly sitting with someone instead of sitting alone today.

 

Connor looked over, scowling as he met Evan's eyes. The smaller teen froze at his glare. 

 

"We're not talking. Alright? Let people think we have a fucking amazing friendship going here, or whatever. My lunches are silent. That's not changing just because I'm sitting here now."

 

Evan gave a tiny nod, turning his attention back to the green lunchbox filled with nothing but a bag of pretzel sticks and two slices of pizza, aluminum foil unwrapped around them. 

 

They sat in silence as they ate, Evan with his cold pizza and Connor with the turkey-and-provolone sandwich on gluten-free bread Cynthia had packed. Included as extras were an apple and a small bag of gluten-free brownies which weren't nearly as bad as Zoe always said they were when he overheard her talking to her friends about why they should under  _ no  _ circumstances stay for dinner. 

 

She could've just told them "oh yeah, my brother's a psycho who gets in fights with me and my parents every night." It's not like they would've said that was ridiculous or something. He lashed out enough in school for there for be plenty of reasons for them to believe her.

 

But, right. Today was going to be an amazing day, according to the kid who was sitting next to him, so thinking about that was off limits. 

 

He contemplated saying something to Evan, but that would be breaking his own "silent lunch" rule. So he focused on his food, and what he would do for his last couple classes-- English, physics, and mythology. Easy enough. He wasn't going to skip any more classes. The rest of his classes were easy enough to get through without ruining the amazing day he was supposed to have today. 

 

A few minutes before the end of lunch, Evan said something.

 

"I know you, uh, I know you said not to talk to you but, I just wanted to, uh, say that I'm sorry? For Jared, this morning? I, he's a lot, I don't normally apologize for him, but. He pushed you too far. After yesterday. He doesn't know, but. He still pushed too far, so. I'm sorry."

 

"Shut the fuck up, Hansen," Connor said, not looking up from his food. "Don't apologize for Kleinman. He's a goddamn dick. That's not your fault. I don't even know how you handle hanging out with him."

 

Evan gave a strained laugh. "It's, better than nothing, I guess. He's my only, uh, he's my family friend. I don't really have a choice, honestly."

 

Connor shrugged, taking another bite of his brownie and talking through a full mouth, which he'd definitely get yelled at for at home, but he doubted Evan would care. "That's fair, I guess. But like. Kleinman's a fucking asshole, and you don't deserve a 'friend' like that."

 

Evan shrugged, looking down at his lunchbox, now only having a crumpled-up ball of aluminum and a Ziploc with some salt that had fallen off of his pretzels.

 

They finished lunch in silence, and continued through the day separately. That did not make them friends. They talked in a friendly manner for about two minutes after eating lunch together. Connor was not going to go swooping in like, "oh, you have a shitty friend but are scared to leave them because they're your only friend? Well, I guess I have to be your friend now, but don't worry, it's definitely not out of pity!" 

 

He'd had a pity friend once, a new kid in eighth grade who saw him sitting alone before he learned to sit outside. His name was Cameron, and he hadn't learned about how he lashed out and broke down yet. So he stuck with him until Connor snapped and yelled at him one day when they skipped school together, and then he ran off and never came back, and Connor started sitting outside for lunch.

 

So Connor was not going to be a pity friend. That wasn't something he was going to do. Ever.

 

He managed to make it through the day, and, when he got home, managed to convince Cynthia to let him go to A La Mode before doing his homework by promising to do what he could there and to be home in time to finish what he couldn't do. He used a headband to hold his hair back while he drove for once, which didn't look good at all but at least meant his hair wasn't in his face while he drove. 

 

He'd run his order through his head hundreds of times by the time he made it to the shop.  _ Mint chocolate chip with chocolate whipped cream and rainbow sprinkles. _ They had really good chocolate whipped cream, which Connor hadn't been able to find anywhere else. Plus, it was homemade like the hot fudge. His parents and Zoe always remembered the hot fudge, which  _ was _ really good, but Connor always remembered the chocolate whipped cream. You could make hot fudge like that at home. He had no clue how to make chocolate whipped cream like that. 

 

He did his mythology homework while he sat at one of the indoor tables eating his ice cream. It was some basic beginning-of-the-year work, since it was an unwritten Decent Teacher Law to not assign homework on the first day (most math teachers didn't follow that law, ever). It was mainly about personal opinions on different mythologies. Connor always had a soft spot for Norse mythology, so he didn't mind filling out that questionnaire. 

 

The final question was a prompt.

 

_ What do you think would be an interesting extension of part of mythology? _

 

Connor only thought for a few seconds before his pencil was flying across the page, scrawling out an idea.

 

_ Say someone fought a mental illness, let's say depression, for years. They couldn't get treatment or therapy and succumbed to thoughts of suicide. Would their loss be enough to get them into Valhalla? Would their battle make them worthy of it? _

 

Connor's pencil broke when he finished the question mark, and he dropped it to look at his own hands. 

 

Would his battle make him worthy of it? He didn't feel like a worthy warrior. But if he looked at someone else, someone struggling with the same thing, or someone who'd lost, he saw their battle for what it was: a difficult battle.

 

But most of them made an impact. They were warriors who fell and made a difference.

 

Connor was not a warrior. If he fell, he would never be worthy of that title. So the answer to his question about Valhalla was case-by-case. Substitute "someone" with "Connor Murphy," and the answer would always be no. Substitute it with anyone else, and it was yes.

 

Connor was not a worthy warrior.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yayeet so this took a while sorry yall  
> its been done i just didnt have time to finish ch4 this past week bc i switched schools on monday and the past week has been a mess of stress, breakdowns, and 3 hour long drama rehearsal.   
> but im back to let yall suffer through my shitty angst. thanks 4 all the nice comments yall  
> remember to kudos bookmark and comment bc commenting makes me feel fuzzy and good and motivated


	4. ix / day 6337

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "...here's to 17 years and 132 days (right? Is it creepy if I know your birthday? Would that be creepy? I hope not. I don't mean to be creepy) of Connor Murphy. And here's to hopefully many years more. Just one more day. Promise that. (I'm assuming you're going to promise. I hope you're going to promise.) Survive one more day."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeet idk when the next chapters gonna be but heres this mess!  
> tw: self harm, self hate (yet again), connor questions his sexuality a bit bc thats a thing hes struggling w, and uhh actually i think thats it for this chapter its a miracle  
> edit: oh i also edited the fic summary so yeet

Connor stepped out of the shower, holding a tissue to a few new cuts on his arm. He'd finished the homework he wasn't able to do at A La Mode in just under an hour when he got home, and somehow, they'd made it through dinner without a fight. Connor had been silent the entire time, to be fair. He was still thinking about things.

 

Which had landed him bleeding, again, but. He didn't really care at this point. He was fine. It wasn't like a little blood would kill him or something. 

 

Zoe banged on the door, shouting for Connor to hurry up so she could shower. He pulled on his shirt, unlocking the door and shoving past Zoe as soon as it was open, heading towards his room. 

 

Today had not been an amazing day, like he meant for it to be. Evan was wrong. Connor couldn't have an amazing day.

 

So here he was, going to bed even earlier than the day before because his day had gotten bad and he needed it to be over. Once it was over it couldn't get any worse. 

 

He left his music off once again, laying on top of the covers this time. He didn't feel like having warmth from the blankets tonight. He didn't feel like he deserved warmth beyond what the clothes he wore gave him, which wasn't much.

 

He hadn't registered that he'd left his light on until who he guessed was Cynthia flicked it off from the doorway. Probably an hour had passed, maybe a bit longer. He was still unable to fall asleep, trying to figure out why he couldn't just calm down and drift off. His eyes were closed. There were no distractions. He was laying down. Why couldn't he fall asleep right?

 

He let his eyes open, staring at the ceiling until what he assumed was probably one in the morning.  He was tired, and cold, and he couldn't sleep. He couldn't get himself to fall asleep until five whole hours after he first starting trying. Which, great. He was going to be exhausted in the morning. It wasn't as bad as some nights, but he should've just stayed up all night and lived with that. That would've been easier. 

 

But he was already asleep. So. Nothing he could do about that now.

 

His eyes opened before his alarm even went off. He rolled over, grabbing his phone, squinting at the light of the screen. It was on the lowest brightness, as always, so there wasn't much he could do about that. 

 

4:57 AM. The perfect time to wake up on a... shit, what day was it. Wednesday? No, Thursday. That's what his phone said once the "100% Charged" message went away. Thursday, August 30th. The third day of senior year. And he was awake at 4:57 AM. Wonderful. Perfect.

 

His attempts at convincing himself to get out of bed almost didn't work. An hour had passed by the time Zoe was banging on his empty doorframe and he managed to get out of bed. His feet dragged as he grabbed clothes and headed to the bathroom to get changed. He hoped Cynthia had saved some of the banana pancakes from the day before. He could use one of those right now. He could desperately use a banana pancake today. He'd definitely be skipping today once he made it long enough to not get marked absent. He really didn't need to start off the school year with the skipped classes from yesterday and an absent. Maybe he wouldn't survive the year. But if he tried maybe he would have something to do other than suffer alone in his room or in the library or something. Homework was something. 

 

Plus, thanks to the rotating schedule, he didn't have mythology today, so he wouldn't be missing that. Tomorrow would be bearable because mythology would rotate back in to Period 1, and hopefully he could force himself out of bed like he did this morning.

 

He got to school and opened his locker to find another letter falling out, his name written on it in the same shaky cursive, and the same set-up as the day before.

 

**Dear Connor Murphy,**

 

**Today is going to be an amazing day, and here's why: because you survived yesterday. Because if you're reading this, unless it's some, ghost thing or something, you're still alive. You're still winning the battle. And it's not an easy one! I know that. It's a super hard battle.**

 

**But here's to 17 years and 132 days (right? Is it creepy if I know your birthday? Would that be creepy? I hope not. I don't mean to be creepy) of Connor Murphy. And here's to hopefully many years more. Just one more day. Promise that. (I'm assuming you're going to promise. I hope you're going to promise.) Survive one more day.**

 

Jared actually left him alone at the beginning of the day for once, so that was good. He sat next to Evan at lunch again, this time completely silent. Maybe it was a bit uncomfortable, but less uncomfortable than talking to each other, plus Evan actually had someone to sit with, so. That was a plus, maybe.

 

He left after lunch. He let people think Evan had a friend to sit with in the hallways at lunch, and he left. That was the day. That was it. He didn't have the energy to go to A La Mode once he took the bus home, so he just let it stop there. He grabbed another banana pancake and went up to his room, pulling off his boots and laying down without taking off his jacket. He felt a buzz in his pocket, pulling his phone out to find a notification from Twitter.

 

_ [evan_hansen] I don't kniw if I should be messagibg you but thanks fr sitting with me during lnch lately? _

_ [evan_hansen] *know, messaging, for, lunch _

_ [evan_hansen] sorry I'm a bad typer sometimes but I just wanted to say thanks :) _

_ [evan_hansen] I'm sorry if I bothered you _

 

Connor smiled, sending a quick message back.

 

**[ConnorMurphy] no dw ur better than i am. dont msg me more but it's chill it beats sitting alone outside. have u felt how fucking hot out it is. plus ppl might actualy think we have friends lol.**

 

He hoped the ending would come across as a joke. Maybe he didn't want to be friends with Evan, really, but he wanted to be nice to him. Not be an asshole. The first day he'd been enough of an asshole. Pushing the kid who broke his arm because he thought he had laughed at him. He was an asshole.

 

_ [evan_hansen] haha alright. I'll see you at school tomorrow? _

 

**[ConnorMurphy] yea alright. see u tomorrow.**

 

Connor wasn't sure what to think. The few times he talked to people, usually mutuals on Tumblr, he never got an unironic "haha" in response, so that was something. His first text correspondence with a Certified Straight (trademark).

 

He sat up and took a bite out of his pancake, opening Tumblr and scrolling through the feed. He reblogged a joke about being bisexual, which. He wasn't sure if that was the right label? He knew he'd liked individuals of multiple genders. He was going with bisexual for now, though, since it was more mainstream and he was a bit more comfortable with it than other labels, which didn't say much since he wasn't super comfortable with most labels he'd found. 

 

One of his friends from school, his only friend from school, actually, who'd moved away a few years ago, told him to just give it time. He was the first openly gay guy he'd met, so. That was a way to make a friend. He'd lost contact with him, and at the moment couldn't remember his name, but. He knew that he was a cool guy. He liked him. Maybe more than most other cool guys. 

 

But whatever, that was in the past and it had been years since he'd seen him last and he was still figuring out if he wanted a label. MLM would work, right? He was a man-loving-man or whatever it stood for. Liking people beyond men didn't change that. He could use that.

 

No. He was going to stick with bisexual, at least for now. He could change it later if he found something else that fit him better. But this was him now.

 

And him now was going to finish this banana pancake and take a depression nap before he had another identity crisis in the rush to put a label to feelings. Because feelings were fucked and he did not feel like dealing with that right now. All of his feelings were fucked. The sad ones, the angry ones, and the love ones. He didn't love anyone right now, anyways, so why did he feel like he had to put a label to love feelings that didn't exist right now?

 

But, right. No more identity crises. 

 

He scrolled through a stim blog to check and see if they had filled his request yet, seeing his question answered with "Queued! -Mod T" and liking the post. Then he turned his phone off, plugged it in, and fell asleep. Depression naps. The closest thing he was going to get to death any time soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aight that was 5 pages and 1562 words so yeet. the next chapter isnt even started yet but ill post it asap i promise  
> remember 2 comment bookmark and kudos bc for forever on the ukulele has fifteen different chords


	5. v / survive (reprise)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor doesn't know what he's supposed to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *shows up after like, two weeks with lemonade because it was like, 80 degrees out today for some godforsaken reason* yall ready for suffering  
> tw for uhh suicidal thoughts, a panic attack, and jared being kinda a dick. but what else is new. oh and near-suicide attempt as well (no ones in a hospital yet but :) )  
> this ones shorter than most of the others i think? 4 pages and 1432 words. i swear i was gonna make this a long chapter but i didnt want to stretch it out TOO long. the next one should be pretty long though theres a lot to talk about  
> EDIT: ALSO tw for connor calling himself dangerous during the panic attack thing. idk if thats a trigger for anyone but its worth a warning!

Days like that became a routine.

 

Fights with Zoe and Larry and Cynthia. Sitting with Evan at lunch. Jared started bothering him again. And the letters.

 

**Dear Connor Murphy, today is going to be an amazing day and here’s why.**

 

**Because you’re you.**

 

**Because you’re going to get better.**

 

**Because things will be okay.**

 

**Because you’re still here.**

 

**Because you survived another day.**

 

Et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. The same bullshit repeated in slightly different ways day after day after day.

 

But, still. Something about them made Connor start to enjoy reading them at the start of every day. Even on days when he couldn’t handle the rest of school. He’d go in to get the daily letter, and then he’d leave. He looked forward to them. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d looked forward to something that wasn’t self-destructive. 

 

Two weeks passed quickly, and Connor headed towards his locker like he had the past two Tuesdays. He was going to skip the rest of the day, he knew that, but he needed to get the letter of the day. That would be enough to get him through the day. 

 

He spun the dial on his locker, putting in his combination without having to think about what it was. He’d put a new coat of paint on his nails last night, and in retrospect the purple wasn’t the best idea and it made him think of the night he was supposed to die and he should’ve just gone with black, but it was already on and he hated using nail polish remover so this was what it was going to be for a while. 

 

His locker swung open, and he looked down towards where the letter would’ve fallen.

 

Nothing was there.

 

He tried to calm the feeling of  _ bad _ that came over him then, crouching down to pull out the books and folders at the bottom of his locker, hoping that the letter of the day had just fallen behind them. His search came up empty, and his rhythm was suddenly knocked off and everything felt  _ wrong _ . 

 

_ He gave up on you, everyone gives up on you, you’re not worth it, you can’t get better. Evan knows that now, he figured it out, that’s why there isn’t a letter-- _

 

His hands wrapped around his wrists, tightening and loosening around his sleeves. His arms hurt. Everything was closing in on him. People were staring. 

 

_ No, no, no, no-- _

 

People were  _ staring at him _ and he couldn’t  _ breathe. _ He didn’t have his binder on that day, that was good, but people were staring at him because they knew he was going to snap and he was on the edge and he’s  _ dangerous and he’s bad and he’s awful and. _

 

He pulled his eyes from his locker in time to see Jared walking past his locker, shoving his books back into his locker and slamming the door shut. 

 

He stood up. 

 

“Kleinman--” Jared’s shoulders tensed, but he stopped walking and turned to face Connor-- “Kleinman, where’s-- where’s Evan?”

 

Jared laughed, but it wasn’t his usual carefree laughter, it was tense and scared and it was because of Connor and because Connor was  _ bad. _

 

“It’s not my job to keep track of your boyfriend or whatever, Connor.”

 

“He’s not-- you have to know where he is. Please.”

 

The tension left Jared’s face, but his shoulders didn’t adjust.

 

“Not here. Mental health day or something. He’s been down all weekend, dude.”

 

Mental health days were something Connor was familiar with. He’d had his fair share of those alongside the days he skipped, which were unofficial mental health days.

 

He had been planning on taking one the day he planned to kill himself, and. 

 

Fuck.

 

“Where does he live?”

 

“I don’t know, Elm Street or something. Like, right next to the park. There’s a big-ass tree in the front yard.”

 

Without another word, he’s shoving past Jared and running towards the exit of the school, pushing through the crowd and drawing more attention to himself than he’d like. Jared shouts out a “You’re welcome, asshole!” from behind him. Connor ignores it. He needs to leave. He needs to find Evan. 

 

He makes the turn to get through the doors, sliding and slamming his face against the door which is fucking  _ great _ , thanks, universe, and as he runs outside he holds his hand to his nose and pulls it down and there’s blood on his hand so even  _ fucking  _ better. 

 

He rushes into his car, since he actually drove himself today since he’d gotten in another argument with Zoe that morning, reaching over to the glovebox and pulling out some napkins from Dunkin’ Donuts and holding them to his nose as he turns his keys and his car rumbles to a start.

 

His heart is pounding in his ears. He’s less  _ I’m awful and everyone hates me and I should kill myself _ now and more _ Evan Hansen is about to fucking kill himself and he  _ can’t _ he can’t. _

 

He doesn’t even know that for sure. He’s terrified that that’s what’s going on, but why the  _ fuck _ is he so worried about it if he doesn’t even know for sure that that’s what’s going on?

 

He hates speed limits and he hates slow drivers and he hates it. 

 

_ Someone is about to fucking  _ kill himself,  _ can you assholes fucking go at least a little faster? _

 

He stops himself again.  _ Evan is not going to kill himself. You’re going to check on him and make sure he’s okay because he’s been writing those letters to you and you might as well repay the favor. _

 

And he absolutely hates being mentally ill because he believes that for about two seconds and then is right back to  _ Evan is about to kill himself and that should be me because he has a future and I don’t. _

 

He’s knocked back into reality by having to slam the brakes as he notices that he’s at an intersection. His seatbelt bites into his shoulder through his layers of clothing, and he’s reading the street names and they’re blurring in his brain but somehow he registers that Jackson Street leads to Elm Street and as soon as the coast is clear he’s pushing the gas pedal down and turning left. He could feel his heart beating way too fast, and he needs to get to Evan’s house. He needs to save Evan. He needs to be there.

 

He registers a street sign up ahead, the words still a blur but he guesses (hopes) it’s Elm Street.  He’s gone to the park before. He gets high there, usually. So he hopes his muscle memory is accurate.

 

When he sees the sign to the park ahead (which is really just a path through the woods with a clearing in there somewhere and a playground no one uses except the high schoolers who sneak out to smoke), he slows down. He looks at the houses besides the park, trying to decide what qualifies to Jared as a “big-ass tree” since all of the houses have at least one tree in front of them. He’s practically stopped in the middle of the road at this point, and he’s silently wishing to whatever higher power that may or may not exist that no one pulls up behind him. 

 

He sees a door open at one of the houses. Bushes and a few dead flowers stand around the door, and the house itself doesn’t stand out. Beige, brown roof and door, nothing remarkable except the oak tree growing in the front yard. That would probably qualify as big-ass.

 

When Connor sees a familiar figure step out-- his steps are stiff, his hair is a mess, he looks like he’s been crying, his shoulders are tensed up and he’s shaking-- he confirms not only whose house it is, but also that his suspicions were true. 

 

Evan Hansen is wearing a dark blue sweatshirt with decals of piles of green leaves on the ends of the sleeve and the bottom of the hoodie, and he’s locking the door to his house with a shaky hand. And when Connor pulls in and Evan looks up, no doubt wondering the same thing Connor had wondered when he was caught, the look on his face doesn’t need to be analyzed. 

 

Evan Hansen was planning on dying tonight. 

 

And now he’s bursting into tears and curling up in a ball on the dirt pathway from his door to the driveway, and Connor doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do.

 

Connor doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyo how are yall. i hope ur okay an if u arent i hope u will be soon.  
> i read the deh novel and it HIT and its not the best thing ever but im attached to these dudes. so heres a chapter ive been struggling with.  
> pwease kudos bookmark and comment bc zoe actually wrote requiem as a vent song and shes valid


	6. vi / sounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Connor dropped the bloodied napkins into a plastic bag he used for trash. His nose had mercifully finished bleeding, so now he could take care of the other issue he had on his hands-- he needed to make sure Evan survived the day."  
> \--  
> Connor and Evan talk about life and the wish to end it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG  
> mental health is a bitch, schools a bitch, yall know the drill.  
> but here u go enjoy  
> (tw: mentions of evans s/icide attempt, pills, implied plan to overdose.)  
> 4 pages, 1416 words

Connor dropped the bloodied napkins into a plastic bag he used for trash. His nose had mercifully finished bleeding, so now he could take care of the other issue he had on his hands-- he needed to make sure Evan survived the day.

 

Evan looked up as Connor closed the door to his car, shoving the Hufflepuff lanyard with his keys into his pocket, meeting Connor’s eyes for a second before turning away. 

 

“Go away.”

 

Evan’s voice is quiet and choked, and in the moment Connor remembers that they’re not even really adults yet. They’re kids.  _ Kids. _

 

He steps over to him, crouching down beside him. 

 

“No.”

 

“Go  _ away. _ ”

 

“Hansen, shut the fuck up. I’m not leaving you like this.”

 

Connor’s breathing was still shaky and he was still on the adrenaline rush of Evan Hansen Might Maybe Be Dead Already, but he wasn’t going to leave. He wasn’t going to run away from the situation that Evan had found him in and  _ stayed _ even though Connor had been as much as an asshole to Evan as Evan had been to him, if not worse, that day.

 

Connor listened closely to Evan’s stuttered breathing. He was probably hyperventilating. He couldn’t blame him.

 

“Let’s go inside.”

 

Evan looks up, glancing to the hand that’s grasping the keys to the front door too tight, and as Connor watches a drop of blood falls to the dirt.

 

“Hansen, let’s go inside. I can unlock the door.”

 

Evan shakes his head.

 

“Is that a no as in, you’re not going inside or a no as in you’ll unlock the door yourself?”

 

“I’m not--” a shaky breath, and a small sob-- “I don’t know.”

 

“Can I have the keys?”

 

Evan held his hand out, opening his palm. The edge of his key had a light coat of blood, and blood beaded around a cut on his palm. 

 

Connor took it, stepping back to his car and grabbing a tissue to wipe off the blood and pulling his bag out onto his shoulder. Evan hadn’t moved when he turned around, but he was biting on his fingernails, so as Connor walked over, he searched through his bag for some of his fidget toys. He found a tangle, which he hoped would be effective, and handed it to Evan.

 

“What--”

 

“Occupying your hands so you don’t bite at your nails.”

 

Evan didn’t ask again and followed Connor as he unlocked the door and headed inside. A folded 20-dollar bill sat on the island in the kitchen, and beside it sat a handwritten note in that shaky cursive that Evan was quick to rush over and grab, stuffing it in his pocket. A rattling that was undoubtedly a bottle of pills sounded.

 

“Can I put the pills away?” Connor asked, holding his hand out as he walked over and set Evan’s keys down on the counter next to the cash. 

 

Evan shook his head, setting the tangle down next to his keys. “I-- I can do it.”

 

“Is it okay if I come with you?”

 

“Okay.”

 

Connor stayed a few steps behind Evan as he walked down a short hallway, taking a turn into a bedroom painted a pale blue. He opened the drawer of his bedside table, rattling suggesting the existence of another bottle of pills, and sets them inside before shutting it again.

 

They headed back out to the kitchen, where Connor takes a closer look around. There are barstools around the island, one of which had a duct-taped bar. The paint is scratching and peeling off of most of them. 

 

The fridge looks old, and there’s a phone number taped to it, and some magnets with motivational quotes and a calendar held up by multiple magnets. They had a microwave next to it. There’s an empty bowl in the sink with a spoon in it, so Evan probably had eaten breakfast. There’s the stove, with a few marks suggesting it hadn’t been cleaned, or used, for a while. Then there’s the twenty dollars and Evan’s house keys and the tangle he had lent him that now had some blood on it but that was fine, blood could wash off.

 

Connor turns back towards Evan, noticing that he’s biting at his nails again. He grabs the tangle from the counter, rinsing it off in the kitchen sink and drying it with his shirt. He was about to hand it to Evan, before noticing that his hand was still bleeding.

 

“Bandages? For your hand?”

 

He noticed Evan’s cast again, and that cast has his name on it, written in big black letters underneath his sweatshirt. Something about that felt wrong. Uncomfortable. 

 

Evan stayed silent as he headed towards what Connor assumed was the bathroom. His cast got in the way when he tried to get the bandage wrap he’d found onto his hand, so Connor took it from him. He tried to be gentle and not wrap the bandages too tight, but Evan gave a little hiss of pain when he was finishing wrapping it and taping it so it wouldn’t fall off so.

 

They head back to the kitchen, again, and then Evan keeps walking into the next room over and opens the shades. It’s the living room, and their TV is a lot smaller than the one Connor’s family has. Connor’s family is also rich so that doesn’t surprise him.

 

Evan took a seat on the couch, wiping a few tears from his face. He was still crying.

 

Connor sat next to him, handing him the tangle. They sat in silence for a few seconds. In the situation, it was nearly unbearable.

 

“Do you want to talk?” Connor picked at the corner of his repainted nails, glancing from his hands to Evan and back.

 

He heard Evan take a shaky breath.

 

“I— did I, the letters. Did— did they help? Did they  _ ever _ help? Did they mean anything?”

 

Connor nodded. “Hansen, I probably would’ve tried to off myself the day after you found me if it wasn’t for those fuckin’ letters.” It was harsh, but it was the truth, and he felt like Evan should probably hear that.

 

“I’m-- I’m sorry about the first day of school. The letter.”

 

“It’s alright. I was an asshole too. It’d been a rough summer. ...Looked like it was the same for you.”

 

Evan let out another sob. 

 

“It-- I lied about the tree. I lied. I lied.”

 

“Hansen-- Evan, breathe. As bullshit as it is, you’ve gotta breathe, okay?”

 

He gave Evan a few minutes, tapping out the second counts on his leg, listening to hear his breath slowing. 

 

“I-- I think I’m okay. I think I can talk now.”

 

“Okay.”

 

Evan was shaking still, but he talked. “I--I didn’t fall. Out of the, the tree, over the summer, I didn’t fall. I mean, I mean I  _ did, _ but, it wasn’t an accident. I. I let go. I didn’t fall. I--”

 

Another sob came, strained, and Evan curled in on himself.

 

“I just-- I felt so  _ alone _ and I didn’t-- I didn’t think anything would ever change and now I feel like that again and I  _ can’t _ , I can’t go through life feeling like this!” 

 

“I get it.” Connor tried to keep his voice level, unsure on how to comfort Evan, just hoping that knowing he  _ isn’t _ as alone as he feels will help him feel better.

 

And then he had an idea.

 

He put his hand on Evan’s back, silently encouraging him to stand up.

 

“Hey, uh, if you’re up for leaving the house I… I know a place that always makes me feel better?” Connor said. 

 

Evan was silent for a few seconds, before giving a nod. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

 

“Do you want to like, wash your face or something first?” Evan’s face was red and blotchy from crying, so he thought it would be a reasonable suggestion. He took it, heading to the bathroom. Connor didn’t follow him that time, instead opting to go find a water bottle for Evan. He heard the water run for a few minutes before turning off again. 

 

Evan came from the bathroom, his face a bit clearer, and Connor pulled his car keys from his pocket before turning to head out the door.

 

“Wait-- wait, where are we going?” Evan asked, and Connor looked at him over his shoulder.

 

“It’s an ice cream place,” he said, shrugging. “Their homemade hot fudge is great.”

 

And then, with Evan trailing behind him, he walked out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed!!! kudos comment and hug ur friends.  
> i have a writing blog now! @connauthor on tumblr. also follow my main @demi-fool and my to-be "deh said trans rights" acc @transdeh


	7. vii / funeral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I’m singing at a funeral tomorrow / For a kid a year older than me / And I’ve been talking to his dad, it makes me so sad / When I think too much about it I can’t breathe."
> 
> \-- 
> 
> Driving the winding country roads to grab a scoop at A La Mode and talking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hngngn mental health bad welcome back to the shitshow this time it has music  
> usual tws, for bonus oof play funeral by phoebe bridgers while u read  
> we got a tiny boy on our hands here, 2 pages, 379 words  
> pls enjoy

“Do you have any music you want to put on?”

 

It had already been five minutes of driving in silence, and Connor couldn’t take it anymore. He needed music, or conversation, but he didn’t know what to talk about and he didn’t know if his music would bother Evan.

 

“N-no, no, I’m good. You can put something on if you want…?”

 

“You sure?”

 

“Yeah. Yeah.”

 

“Could you plug in the aux cord?” Connor held his phone out to Evan, holding onto the cord with one finger. Evan took the cord and Connor’s phone, and within a few seconds he heard a click and Evan was passing his phone back over. 

 

Connor unlocked his phone, opened Spotify, and with a few more glances, music filled the car.

 

_ I’m singing at a funeral tomorrow  _

 

_ For a kid a year older than me _

 

_ And I’ve been talking to his dad, it makes me so sad _

 

_ When I think too much about it I can’t breathe. _

 

“C...Connor?”

 

_ And I have this dream where I'm screaming underwater _

 

“Yeah?”

 

_ While my friends are all waving from the shore _

 

_ And I don't need you to tell me what that means _

 

_ I don't believe in that stuff anymore _

 

“Why… why did you come over?”

 

_ Jesus Christ, I’m so blue all the time _

 

_ And that’s just how I feel… _

 

“I... noticed that you weren’t there and... I wanted to check in with you.”

 

_ I have a friend I call  _

 

_ When I’ve bored myself to tears _

 

_ And we talk until we think we might just kill ourselves... _

 

“Can you… can you tell me the truth? Please?”

 

_ And last night I blacked out in my car _

 

_ And I woke up in my childhood bed... _

 

“I… It’s…”

 

_...When I remembered someone's kid is dead. _

 

“The letter wasn’t there. You’ve been writing me letters, every day, and it’s been consistent, so I felt like. I felt like something was wrong, and Kl-- Jared said you’d been upset all weekend and were taking a mental health day and I. I knew something was wrong and I had to help. You saved my life, Evan, I had to help I couldn’t just let you die-- I couldn’t let you feel alone. I couldn’t.”

 

_ And it’s 4 AM again, _

 

_ And I’m doing nothing. _

 

_ Again. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeet!  
> the next one wont take this long i swear im just big disaster  
> pls comment and kudos and subscribe and comment and did i mention comment (please. please i need my motivation)


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